


An error doesn't become a mistake until you refuse to correct it.

by kaitlia777



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Fix-It, Gen, Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-02
Updated: 2011-12-02
Packaged: 2017-10-26 18:46:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaitlia777/pseuds/kaitlia777
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Picks up where the events of 3x12 Stand leave off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An error doesn't become a mistake until you refuse to correct it.

“Gym,” Artie panted. “Must…get…membership.”

Nearby, Myka gave him an encouraging look. “Almost there, Artie,” she said, but her upbeat tone and words couldn’t hide the tense lines of her ash smudged face.

Several yards ahead, Pete was regarding an eight foot high wall of smelted rock and sand. The epicenter of the blast was the crater’s deepest point and, as they made their way toward the edge of the damage, they’d encountered a fairly even slope…save the occasional piles of charred rubble.

Until now.

Jumping, Pete caught the lip above his head and, planting a foot on the wall for leverage, heaved himself up to peer over. “We made it,” he informed Myka and Artie, dropping back down to face them in relief.

The thought of getting out of the hot, smoky crater gave Artie a second…hell, more like a fifth wind and he made it to where Pete was standing only moments after Myka. The vertical drop, marking the edge of the explosive damage done by the weapon that destroyed the Warehouse, stretched as far as the eye could see and no point seemed any lower than the spot Pete had found.

All three of them were hot, tired and covered in the ashen remains of countless artifacts. During the trek from the small, unaffected spot near what had been the center of the Warehouse, each of them had sustained a variety of bruises and small burn. The worst was on Myka’s right arm, a reminder of a stumble into a red hot bit of scrap metal.

“Myks,” Pete said, lacing his fingers together and holding them out like a stirrup. As Artie watched, she stepped into his hands and pushed off with her free leg. With Pete’s aid, she shot upward, light as a sprite, and easily scrambled out of the crater.

She peered back down at them and smiled. “Piece of cake,” she quipped, then reached back down into the chasm. “C’mon, Artie.”

Again, Pete held out his hands and said, “You next.”

It wasn’t that Artie didn’t trust Pete, but he knew full well he weighed a good deal more than Myka and the wall was very tall. No way was his escape going to be anywhere near as pretty as hers. Still, it was the only way out….

“No comments,” Artie told Pete as he placed a foot in the younger man’s hands, grabbing his shoulders for balance as he was heaved upward. Thankfully, Pete said nothing, merely let out a small grunt, but then Myka grabbed Arties wrists and helped haul him up onto the non-scorched earth.

As Artie caught his breath, Pete’s fingers appeared over the lip of the chasm. Myka hurried to grab his shoulders and assisted in pulling him out of the wreck of the Warehouse.

They sprawled on the naturally dusty ground for a moment, staring out at the vast swath of destruction cut by Walter Sykes’s artifact enhanced bomb. Normally, the Warehouse seemed so vast, but now, as a devastating scar on the badlands, it was…horrific. As he’d suspected, even the Ovoid Quarantine hadn’t been able to contain the concussive blast. They were just lucky H.G.’s improvised shield bubble held out for as long as it had.

In the distance, Artie noticed an SUV hurtling down the access road, kicking up clouds of dirt as it flew toward the still smoking crater. Either Claudia or Leena could have been behind the wheel, as both ladies had a lead foot.

“Oh, good,” Pete commented from where he lay, collapsed in a heap with Myka half slumped over his abdomen, “We don’t have to walk back to the B&B.”

All of their vehicles had been parked beside the Warehouse and thus were within the protective barrier and  
had been incinerated along with everything else. Artie was just glad trailer had been fussing earlier and  
he’d sent him to the B&B to bug Leena.

The SUV arrived in a screech of tires and, not even killing the engine, Leena and Claudia spilled out (Leena had been driving), running toward them. They both looked rumpled and scared, but generally unharmed.

“Oh my God!” Claudia exclaimed, dropping to her knees beside Artie and flinging her arms around him. “You’re alive!” For once, he didn’t try to shy away from the overt display of affection.

Pete and Myka were getting a similar greeting from Leena, and Artie thought it spoke to the seriousness of the situation when Pete didn’t even grin as he received a faceful of Leena’s bosom. “How’d you survive the blast?” Leena asked as she and Claudia traded places.

“It was H.G.,” Myka said sadly. “She found a way to bend the outer shield around us. She died saving us.”

“So much death,” Leena murmured. “Mrs. Frederic, too.”

As the Caretaker of the Warehouse, Irene Frederic was inextricably linked to it. The destruction caused her  
death, Artie knew, but somehow it seemed impossible. Mrs. Frederic was…Mrs. Frederic.

From the safety of Pete and Myka’s arms, Claudia looked over and added, “She went all…mummy without the tattered bandages. Desiccated.”

Artie grimaced and gingerly climbed to his feet. His whole body ached, he felt like he had a sunburn everywhere and he’d be coughing up black muck for weeks.

Or not.

“Gather round,” he said, waving the other four into a loose half circle in front of himself. When they were assembled, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the watch he’d retrieved from MacPherson’s room.

They all stared down at the seemingly innocuous brass device as Artie spoke. “This is Samuel Madden’s Pocket Watch. In 1733, he published a novel called Memoirs of the 20th Century, wherein a guardian angel travels to 1728 from 1997-98 with letters. It was one of the world’s first science fiction novels and was largely banned by the conservative government. Given Madden’s love for his story, the pocket watch developed and odd, time manipulating function. We can go back and fix things.”

Pete, Myka and Claudia absorbed all this with mingled shock and hope, while Leena murmured, “I’ve never heard of Madden’s Pocket Watch….”

“You wouldn’t have,” Artie replied, clearing his throat. “James discovered this years ago and never catalogued it. When he passed, he left it to me, telling me I’d need it one day. He also left a brief warning that it isn’t the most exact mode of travel…it will take us to a general point, but not an exact time…”

“I’m all for fixing this,” Pete said, gesturing around, “but isn’t it bad to travel through time? Like, if I meet my past self…BOOM!”

Claudia shook herself and simply said, “I’m in.”

Everyone knew she was hoping to save Steve. None of them could blame her.

Myka seemed torn. “Could doing this cause more damage?”

Artie shook his head. “No. If we use this, these physical bodies will cease to exist. I don’t know how it works without creating a paradox, but anyone who has a finger on the watch when its wound back will retain their memories, but wake up in their own body however many hours or days we rewind. Mrs. Frederic and the Regents can never know.”

Exchanging a look, Pete and Myka nodded, each placing a finger on the brass case beside Claudia’s.

For a moment, Leena blinked, then, with a look out at the devastated Warehouse, she sighed and reached out, finding a spot to touch the small watch.

After taking a minute to search each of their faces and finding them full of resolve, Artie took a breath and said, “Here it goes.”

Then he spun the hands counter clockwise.

It wasn’t overstating to say he’d never felt anything quite like the effects of Madden’s Pocket Watch. It was as though the world around him was reduced to a smeared blur, like what happened when the subject of a photo moved quickly, but on a much larger scale. It swirled faster and faster….

Until it stopped.

Instead of standing by the devastated remains of the Warehouse with Pete, Myka, Claudia and Leena, he found himself in his office, facing Jane Lattimer, mouth still forming the words, “…we didn’t get to the boy in time?”

Kind of poetic, considering the situation.

This time, they would be in time.

As Jane thought on his words, he nodded and said, “Excuse me.”

He had a phone call to make. This time, he was taking no chances with Sykes.

* * *

The first thought through Myka’s head (when the swirling dervish side effect of the Pocket Watch faded) was, “Ow.”

Her head ached and every step she took seemed further insult to the pounding inside her skull. Pete’s arm was around her, supporting her as they trotted down a hill in a familiar, forested area.

“You all right?” Pete asked, dry leaves crackling under their feet. “Woah, déjà vu.”

“Tell me about it,” she replied, pressing a handkerchief to the left side of her head. This was something she hadn’t thought of in regards to time travel, experiencing past injuries again.

“Claudia!” Pete shouted, clearly trying to keep up the pretense as they moved over the sun dappled forest floor.

Moments earlier than she had the first time this scene had played out, Claudia came hurtling down a side path, arms pumping as she waved them back. Knowing what they did, the trio began hoofing it back toward the SUV, Claudia leading the way.

Pushing aside the incipient migraine chewing at her brain, Myka was right behind Claudia and Pete, tumbling into the car. Immediately, Pete floored it, tires throwing twigs and dirt as they roared back up onto paved ground and headed for Skybrook.

As they flew down the road, Myka pulled out the Farnsworth and said, “Now, remember, Jane can’t know that we…already did all of this, so it has to be just like last time.”

When Pete and Claudia nodded in agreement, she opened the machine and, upon seeing Artie and Jane appear, tried to seem surprised. “Artie! Steve’s a double agent! He’s the plan Jane wouldn’t tell us about!”

In the small screen, she could see Jane’s face as the regent said, “He volunteered. He’d had a lot of experience going undercover at the ATF and he’d been here the briefest.”

Behind her, Artie nodded to them reassuringly, though to Jane it might seem he was picking up her train of thought. “It would seem more plausible that he would turn as opposed to one of you.”

“Why’d he help Sykes find Emily Lake and Helena?” Pete asked and Myka turned the Farnsworth toward him. “Without Steve that wouldn’t have happened.”

It was maddening, rehashing all of this while they knew the danger Steve was in.

“His orders were to imbed himself, learn what Sykes is planning…”

“And assist him when needed,” Artie finished Jane’s comment.

“When Sykes enters his endgame,” Jane continued, “Agent Jinks will get us a message.”

Holding up the napkin, which had become somewhat crumpled in her grasp, up to the Farnsworth, Claudia said, “We got the message. Skybrook 3.”

“It’s a decommissioned airport in Featherhead. It must be hanger 3,” Myka said and saw Claudia’s pale reflection in the mirror. She didn’t want to think about how destroyed the girl would be if they were too late to save Steve again.

“That son of a bitch was under our noses this whole time!” Artie’s snarl was far more vehement this time around.

With good reason.

“We’re on our way there now,” Pete said and Myka could see the speedometer creeping over 90mph.

“Pete, be careful,” Jane said and this time Pete smiled a bit more as he replied.

“Love you too, Mom.”

One handed, Myka closed the Farnsworth and a tense silence filled the car. Claudia leaned forward between the two front seats as though willing them to move faster.

Pete glanced at her and said, “We’ll make it, Claud.”

Claudia bit her lip and nodded, while Myka prayed her partner was right.

* * *

During the course of his career, Steve Jinks had in fact done a great deal of undercover work. He’d spent time with criminals from just about every walk of life, from drug dealers to arms traffickers to flat out killers and none of them made him nearly as uncomfortable as Walter Sykes and Marcus Diamond.

Tyler Struhl was the dark side’s version of Claudia, but Steve thought he was mostly just a kid in way over his head. His desire to please Sykes was coming more from a place of fear than devotion and he was sticking around because he knew he wouldn’t like the retirement plan, which included a grave instead of a condo on Palm Beach.

Diamond was a killer, stone cold. From what little the man had let on, he’d been a Baltimore cop before Sykes found him. Steve wondered if he’d been dirty then, or if his cruelty and less socially acceptable personality traits were simply flourishing in his current working environment.

As creepy as Marcus was, he didn’t hold a candle to Sykes himself. Whenever the older man locked those  
ice blue eyes on Steve, it made him ant to crawl out of his skin. Even when he was trying to be genial,  
there was no warmth in him, no humanity, just roiling, all-consuming hate.

Steve couldn’t wait for this assignment to be over, so he could go back to Warehouse 13. Back to Pete’s  
not so funny sense of humor and Myka’s ever ready discussions about good books. To Leena’s warm,  
welcoming smile and Artie’s cookies.

To Claudia, his best friend and partner, who trusted and believed in him. To missions with her, movie  
nights and banter and all the things that would be a healing balm after dealing with these…soulless people.

Standing in the office Sykes had claimed as his own as Skybrook, Steve Jinks watched as the wheelchair bound man moved to sit in front of a terrified, amnesiac H.G. Wells. Holding out the Janus coin, Sykes said, “Let’s see if this really works, huh?”

Wells, or rather her schoolteacher counterpart Emily Lake, asked, in a wavering voice, “Wha-what are you doing? What is that?”

“The end of Emily Lake.”

The way Sykes said that set Steve’s teeth on edge and he fought to hold his calm as Wells plead, “No!”

She sounded so desperate as Sykes grasped her wrist and pressed the coin into her palm, saying, “Just remember.” She cried out in denial again, tears escaping her eyes. “Just relax and remember.”

Her demeanor changed as she was bathed in the artifact’s effect, eyes blinking as she remembered. When her fingers curled into a fist around the coin, Steve asked, “H.G. Wells?”

She looked at him, gaze penetrating and so self-assured, and he drew back as she turned to Sykes. “It would appear you got to the coin before Pete could destroy it. You must be Mr. Sykes.”

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” Sykes said, smiling chillingly as he handed H.G. a half full glass of water.

As she took it, Tyler appeared at Steve’s shoulder, saying, “Um, the plane’s ready if you want to go.”

The young man’s uneasiness set off some internal alarm bells for Steve and he felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle as Sykes moved toward him. “Steve, I want you to know none of this would have been possible without your help, buddy.”

Summoning up his resolve, Steve offered the man a weak smile. Marcus smirked at him, and expression that always gave him the willies.

Mere moments later, the smirk was wiped off of Marcus’s face as several things happened. An all too familiar clap rang out, followed by the sound of splintering class and the truly shocking sight of the side of Marcus’s head exploding outward. Bits of skull and brain matter and a shit load of blood fountained from his ruined skull before the man fell.

Steve barely had the chance to register the fact that he’d been caught in the spray of gore when Sykes met the same fate, slumping in his chair, missing a large portion of his head.

On the couch, H.G. dropped her glass; water turned a sickly pink as random drops of blood mixed with the H2O. Survival instincts kicking in, she dove to the floor in the same instant Steve did.

“Well,” H.G. said, looking at the two bodies. Sykes was in his chair while Marcus was spread eagle, brains staining the carpet. “Not exactly the behavior I’d expect from Pete and Myka.”

Assassination by sniper did seem a bit outside the usual Warehouse practices, but that wasn’t what Steve was focusing on. He didn’t know if Marcus’s artifact-given ability to regenerate extended to re-growing the ruin that was his brain, but he wasn’t about to take any chances. The death of Sykes changed his mission, he was fairly certain, so keeping his cover became a moot point.

Ignoring the blood and…whatever else he had to crawl through, Steve made his way to Marcus’s side, patted him down (removing 2 guns, 4 blades, 2 capped syringes and Cecil B. DeMille’s Riding Crop), then bound him with zip ties.

“I’m fairly certain he won’t be causing you any trouble,” Wells quipped as the sound of the downstairs door being flung open echoed through the mostly empty hanger. Hopefully, the cavalry had arrived.

Moments later, a breathless Claudia, followed by Pete and Myka (toting some sweet Tesla rifles) burst into the room. The carnage wrong-footed them for a moment, then Claudia met his eyes and smiled, “Steve!”

Without a hint of squeamishness, she flung herself at him, squeezing him tighter than her slim arms should have been able to. He returned the embrace, puzzled when she let out a sob and buried her face against his neck. Sure, he’d been undercover for a while, but her reaction seemed disproportionate to the situation. “Get down!” he told Pete and Myka urgently. “Someone’s taking shots at the place.”

They dropped into crouches and Myka asked, “Emily, are you all right?”

“I am,” Wells replied, then added, “I’m also myself again.”

“The accent kinda gave that away,” Pete said, but there was no malice in his tone. He nodded to the window and the two holes surrounded by spider web cracks. “Shots came from there….”

“Tell Nielsen we’re even.”

The voice from the hall startled everyone and a woman stepped into view. She was tall, dressed in unmarked tan cargo pants and a black t-shirt, with an impressive Barrett .50 M-107 rifle slung over her shoulder.

She glanced at the two bodies, clearly checking her work, then added, “There’s a kid, tied up and pissing himself in a plane outside. Also, I was never here.”

“Who are you?” Myka began, but stopped when the woman gave her a look.

“Never here.”

Then she was gone.

Blinking, Steve looked from Pete, to Myka, to H.G., to the empty door, to the bodies and finally down at Claudia. “What the hell just happened?”

Pete and Myka exchanged weary glances and he replied, “It’s been a long, busy few days. Now, here’s the story….”

* * *

Upon bursting into the small hanger office and seeing Steve alive (albeit covered in a variety of gore), Claudia had felt the horrible weight lift from her heart. Not thinking about the blood (it was so much less terrible than what she’d seen in here before), she dove at Steve, grabbing him tight.

Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t hold back her tears and hid her face in his neck as she wept. Around her, she was aware of Myka, Pete, H.G. and Steve talking, of an unknown woman appearing and Pete filling Steve and H.G in on exactly what had gone down.

By the time she’d collected herself, Pete was concluding with, “…But the sniper was a surprise.”

“She sure left a mess,” Myka commented and Claudia began to notice the strange, sticky dampness seeping through the knees of her jeans.

With a final sniff, she pulled back from Steve, having to wait a moment before he released her. She saw his face had grown ashen under the speckles of blood and she raised her hand, wiping the red drops from his skin with her sleeve. She wanted to get all traces of these…evil men off of him.

The motion made him look down at her and smile. She returned his grin, then swiped at her own eyes, climbing to her feet and offering him her hands. He accepted her help up and she kept ahold of his left hand as they surveyed the room.

Myka was holding out a collection bag, into which H.G. dropped the Janus Coin, then another for the Riding Crop, while Pete was rolling Sykes off to the side and glancing down at Marcus Diamond, who…Oh, ick, his shattered head seemed to be in the process of repairing itself…and she was pretty sure that was an ear stuck to the side of the desk.

“Ew,” she said succinctly, then turned to Steve and asked, “Any idea where Sykes was keeping Maezel’s Metronome?”

Steve eyed Marcus and said, “So that’s what’s keeping him all…Walking Dead.”

“Yeah. Awesome graphic novel, BTW…you watch the show?”

“Of course.”

“Guys, we have to call in,” Myka said, clearly not wanting to break up the reunion, but knowing there were things that needed to be done.

When she pulled the Farnsworth out of her pocket, Pete held up a stalling hand. “We probably shouldn’t bring up the whole shooter-mentioning-Artie thing in front of my mom,” he said slowly. “I think we need to tell Artie about that privately.”

Everyone nodded in agreement and, after Claudia snagged the computer off of the desk, picked their way out of the room and away from the increasingly awful, copper penny scent. Down on the condensation-damp concrete floor, they crowded close to Myka, who turned on the communication device.

When it flared to life, they saw Artie’s worried face, bracketed by Leena and Jane. “Update,” he asked briskly, but it was clear he let out a sigh of relief upon seeing Steve.

“Sykes and Marcus, his hench-goon, are dead,” Pete blurted, in a really believable tone of surprise, then cocked his head to the side, adding, “Though Marcus seems to be getting better.”

“What happened?” was the chorused reply to that bit of news.

Steve grimaced. “After Sykes used the Janus Coin on H.G., two shots were fired through a window,  
striking Marcus, then Sykes. From the damage, I’d say the sniper was using explosive rounds.”

“It’s a real mess here, Artie,” Myka said, wrinkling her nose delicately.

“We’re talking Saw levels of blood,” Claudia added, then reached up to pick something off of  
Steve’s collar. “I don’t want to think about what this is.”

She flicked it aside and H.G. peered at it. “That would be brain tissue.”

“I said I didn’t want to know!” Claudia groaned as Pete reached over to pat her back..

“I’ll dispatch a team to deal with the mess,” Jane said, then refocused on the mission. “Claudia, have you been able to access their computers to find out what Sykes’s intentions were?”

Shaking her head, Claudia tossed the dead husk of the laptop onto a crate. “Negatory. Struhl dropped a Fat Man in their system…a hacker nuke. It’s a loss…we can ask him though!”

“You have him in custody?”

“Yeah,” Pete answered his mother, “and from his general please-don’t-kill-me vibe, I’d say he’ll talk.”

“Sykes played things very close to the vest,” Steve commented, then added the information that would put them on the path to the right answers. “I do know his next stop was Hong Kong.”

“Hong Kong,” Jane breathed and they could see her making the connections in her mind. After a moment, she breathed, “He must have thought he’d found the Ancient Regent Sanctum.”

“The what now?” Claudia asked leadingly.

A pissed off roar echoed through the hanger and Steve sighed. “Sounds like Marcus is awake. Goody.”

“We’ll just poke around here some more while we wait for the, uh, backup,” Pete said, offering his mom a nod and a smile.

“We’ll see you all back here when you’re finished,” Artie said, reaching forward to terminate the conversation, then pausing. “Welcome back, Agent Jinks.”

Then the screen went blank.

“That went well,” Myka said, then looked around. “Let’s get Struhl off of the plane and check this place out.”

From upstairs, a steady stream of very inventive curses were still streaming from Marcus. “Should we just let him yell or Tesla his butt?” Claudia asked, scowling up toward the source of the noise.

“Tesla,” everyone agreed and, with a grin, Claudia called, “Dibs!”

As she trotted for the stairs, Steve was on her heels, complaining, “Aw, c’mon, I had to put up with the guy. I should get to Tesla him!”

As they reached the small landing, they both stopped, not really wanting to enter the blood soaked room. It was more than a little unsettling. They entered slowly, trying not to look at the corpse in the corner, instead focusing on Marcus, who was flopping around like a very angry fish.

“Hey!” Claudia said loudly, causing the killer to look at her with cold, dead eyes.

Then he sneered. “Oh, someone’s true colors are showing,” he said mockingly at Steve, “Like we ever bought your turncoat act. You were a pawn, plain and simple.”

“Maybe,” Steve said with a slight smirk of his own, “but my partner’s the one holding the Tesla on you, so I’d say we won this round.”

There was fury in Marcus’s eyes. “When I get free, you’re going to pay for this, you little….”

Whatever nasty thing he planned to say was cut off as Claudia kicked him in the stomach.

Hard.

As he gasped for breath, she aimed and fired the Tesla, sending him into la-la land…at least for the next  
few minutes.

“You can shoot him next time,” Claudia said, offering Steve her mini-Tesla as they tried to ignore the squishing sounds their boots made on the saturated carpet.

“Deal,” he agreed, then grinned. “I saw the Tesla Rifles Pete and Myka have. Claudia Donovan Originals?”

“You know it,” she replied, jogging down the stairs to see Pete walking back into the hanger with Tyler, while Myka and H.G. were poking around a Humvee. Addressing Tyler, she asked, “What the hell, dude? We didn’t let you off after the Amulet thing so you could go all Sith Apprentice.”

The hacker shrugged, the motion hampered by his bound hands, and mumbled, “I needed a job and once I was in…Sykes wasn’t exactly offering pension packages and job references, you know?”

“Still,” Claudia muttered as Steve pointed to the lone chair in the large hanger.

“Sit, stay and be quiet,” he ordered and Tyler complied, probably wanting to make nice in hopes of avoiding making a whole new bunch of scary friends in prison.

“Is this Black Bartie’s Cannon?” H.G. called from the bed of the Hummer. She sounded impressed and Claudia had to agree with her. The thing packed a major punch.

Tyler remained quiet, having taken Steve’s warning seriously, so Pete poked him. “Answer her.”

“I don’t know!” Tyler yelped, then glanced at Steve. “You saw what I did here. IT. That’s all.”

“Like I said,” Steve murmured. “Sykes, not big on trust.”

“So hard to find loyal, evil minions nowadays,” Claudia replied teasingly.

“Well, yeah, since they dissolved the union, that’s a given,” Steve smilingly responded as they drifted over to where Myka and H.G. were placing objects on a large crate.

Joining them, his own hands full, Pete rolled his eyes. “Sure. Her jokes you get.”

“She’s funny,” Steve shot back, causing Claudia, Myka and H.G. to smother their smiles.

“Everyone’s a critic,” Peter grumped, placing a bag on the floor and smoothing a map of China out for everyone to see. Someone had helpfully highlighted the roads that formed the Eye of Horus and the pupil was circled emphatically. “This ought to come in handy.”

“Definitely,” Myka agreed. “We found the Cannon, the Metronome and a box of miscellaneous artifacts.”

Pete actually shivered. “I’m getting some really bad vibes off of that,” he said, eyeing the box in discomfort.

“That’s Marcus’s interrogation kit,” Steve said in distaste, then looked to the bag at Pete’s feet. “What’s in there?”

“A piece of masonry.”

Lowering her voice, Myka said, “It’s from the House of Commons, which was hit during the Blitz, thus it absorbed the concussive force of the German Luftwaffe. Sykes was going to use this to turn a regular bomb into one capable of destroying the Warehouse.”

The thought alone made Claudia shiver and she reached out, grabbing the Metronome. She paused to look at it and wondered what it said about her that she wanted to stop the inverted pendulum again.

“Wait,” Myka said hastily, placing her hands over Claudia’s. “Jane might have some questions for him. Or Mrs. Frederic.”

Letting Mrs. Frederic loose on Marcus would actually be as, if not more, satisfying than stopping the pendulum again. “Okay,” she agreed easily enough, surrendering the Metronome to Myka.

At least this way Steve would get his chance to Tesla the undead jerk.

* * *

“…So, we figure Sykes wanted Helena to unlock the Regent Sanctum,” Myka said to Jane and Artie as she pointed to the map Pete was holding up. “In Tai Pe.”

“The lock was designed by my mentor, but I’m afraid I know nothing of the lock itself,” H.G. added, sipping the tea Leena had kindly provided.

Jane paced the room, nodding. After the Regent’s clean up crew, a scarily efficient team of grim faced men and women in black jumpsuits, had arrived at the hanger, they’d hurried back to the Warehouse. Large, no necked security types had hustled Tyler and Marcus off to be ‘interviewed’ by Adwin Kosan.

Pete didn’t envy them.

His mom was scary enough, but fortunately she seemed to believe them. Lightly touching the Remati Shackle, she turned curious eyes to H.G.. “During your last, brief, tenure as a Warehouse Agent, Phillip said he experienced a near constant feeling that the Warehouse was in danger. It was the Shackle, warning of the danger you posed. I’m feeling none of that. Can you tell me what’s changed?”

From her expression, it was clear H.G. hadn’t been expecting that question. During the ride from Skybrook everyone had promised to put in a good word for her with the Regents, but she’d expressed doubts that it would have any effect.

After all, she had gone all black hat on them and tried to end civilization by heralding in a new ice age, something she doubted anyone would forget.

When Peter had pointed out that forgetting and forgiving were two very separate things, she’d given him a surprised look while Myka beamed at him.

So, Jane’s question was the second time in the span of a few hours that a Lattimer had been a step ahead of H.G. Wells. Wonder of wonders.

“I think perhaps asking to be bronzed was a bad idea. Instead of peace, I was left alone with my grief for over a century, never permitting myself the chance to process Christina’s loss. People do strange things when mad with grief,” she replied slowly. “It’s not an excuse for my actions, merely the only one I’ve been able to find upon asking myself that very question.”

Taking a moment to absorb that, Jane took a seat on the rolling chair beside the couch occupied by Pete, Myka and H.G.. Artie was at a table, peering into Marcus’s toolkit, an appalled expression on his face. Leena was trying to tempt him back to the group discussion with cookies, while Steve (having changed out  
of his blood splattered clothes) sat in an armchair, Claudia perched on one of the actual arms.

Pete was pretty sure their young technical whiz wasn’t going to let her partner stray very far for at least a few weeks.

For the time being, Steve didn’t seem inclined to push her away.

“Given your recent assistance, as well as all indications from the Shackle, I’m inclined to believe you,” Jane said and Pete grinned. “I have to discuss this with the other Regents, but for now I trust you’ll stay out of trouble here.”

H.G. blinked, but recovered quickly to say, “I’ll cause no trouble, but, as you well know, the Warehouse is not conducive to peace and quiet.”

With a small smile, Jane said, “That’s all we can ask. I have a lot to discuss with the other Regents. We may be sending some of you to Hong Kong to locate the Sanctum, but, for now, take a break.”

When she rose, Pete got up and walked her to the door, bending to offer her a hug. “Bye, Mom,” he said warmly. “See you soon.”

“Count on it, Kiddo,” she replied and headed out to meet the Regents God only knew where.

For the first time in a long time, Pete really believed her.

* * *

In one day, she’d gone from having her consciousness stored in a coin, to being ready to die to protect the Warehouse, to a room with 2 sociopaths, all the way back to the Warehouse in South Dakota, more or less free…and she hadn’t had nearly as busy a time as most of the other people around her, who’d travelled back in time to prevent deaths (including her own) and the destruction of Warehouse 13.

It was enough to boggle even Helena’s rather impressive mind.

Between the artifacts they’d brought back and the ones the Regent’s clean-up crew had delivered in large vans (Sykes had, apparently, been quite good at acquiring artifacts), Artie and Leena would be cataloguing for weeks.

But not today.

After moving everything into the Ovoid Quarantine, where things would be kept safe until they were found proper places on the shelves, Pete had turned to the rest of the group and said, “I don’t know about you guys, but I just want a hamburger the size of my face and some uninterrupted time with my bed.”

“Throw some cheese on that burger and I’m sold,” Claudia replied, hopping down off of the box she sat on. “How ‘bout you, Partner?”

“Cheese and bacon,” he replied, a suggestion the younger woman seemed to like.

Leena was chuckling as Artie sighed, “You three eat like ravenous wolves.”

Smiling, Myka added, “Actually, a burger doesn’t sound half bad.”

“With chips,” Helena threw in her two cents and was rewarded by broad grins and enthusiastic nods.

“It’ll be a good night to use the barbeque,” Leena said, herding Artie out of the quarantine room. “Soon,  
the weather’s going to turn and it’ll be too cold to use it.”

Out in the Warehouse proper, they were greeted by a dog, who let out a happy bark, as though it knew they were talking about food.

Artie eyed the animal. “Et tu, Trailer?” he asked, then said, “All right, I could eat. I’m not going shopping though! That market is scarier than the Dark Vault.”

H.G. saw Leena smile tolerantly and replied, “I went shopping a few…yesterday.”

Thinking about that for the moment, Artie glanced at Pete, then said, “We should be okay then.”

“Oh, come one, I don’t eat that much,” Pete mumbled but even Helena knew better.

As they made their way through the Umbilicus, Artie, Leena and Trailer leading the way, followed by Claudia and Steve, Myka hooked her elbows with Pete and Helena.

None of them knew what the future was going to bring, but they did know they’d be able to face it together.

* * *

Comments, pretty please?


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